


Coitus Interruptus

by inusagi



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e11 Adrift, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inusagi/pseuds/inusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone was punishing him into a depressing celibate existence.  Day 17 of the July TW Oneshot challenge (Posted late). M for reasons! Janto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coitus Interruptus

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood. I would like to, so if you’re RTD or with the BBC, please get in touch.

The first time, it was sort of funny—in a completely, horribly demeaning way. They were in Jack’s office, stealing a few intimate moments. Though Ianto would admit, rather grudgingly, that _intimate_ was a bit of a…delicate way to phrase it. And it certainly wasn’t the way Owen had put it.

No, Owen—classy, professional Owen—had marched right out the door and announced “Someone get me the brain bleach. If I have to walk in to Jack with Teaboy’s prick down his throat one more time, I’m gonna find a way top myself, I swear.”

Fucking chav.

He heard Gwen snicker but if Tosh said anything at all, it was drowned out by Jack’s booming voice. “If you learned to knock, you wouldn’t have that problem!”

Ianto slipped out of the room and into the archives before he had to listen to Owen’s reply.

*x*x*

The second time, it was Toshiko and that was infinitely worse. Ianto felt like a…big brother of sorts when it came to Tosh, regardless of how much older she was. She seemed so small and frail, so shy and gawky. All he wanted to do was protect her.

So it was awkward when she found them shagging in the archives. Jack didn’t hear her delicate cough and he very nearly didn’t either, with his lover’s panting breath in his ears. And then he was just thankful that he was behind the bloody filing cabinet and hidden in shadows.

Even when Jack had sorted himself out and was chatting with Tosh about not wanting to betray Gwen’s confidence, _but I really think you should know about this_ and _Could the Rift be taking people, Jack? What do negative spikes mean?_ he stayed in the shadows.

Leaning against the cool concrete, Ianto tried to get control over the blush he knew colored his pale features. The dread that sat itself in his stomach when he realized what they were talking about certainly helped.

If Gwen knew about the negative Rift spikes, all hell was about to break loose.

*x*x*

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose wondered if this day was _ever_ going to end. He doesn’t think he can handle any more surprises.

Jack had stormed off after their meeting, frustrated and depressed, and had found later him in a shop. He’d just gone to pick up cream and milk. How had it descended so quickly?

He knew how, though.

It was Jack. It was always Jack.

Jack and _Jack’s bright ideas_.

Jack’s bright ideas and Ianto’s own inability to say “No.”

He’d allowed himself to be pulled out the fire exit –which was apparently fitted with a silent alarm—and into the alley. He’d allowed himself—more eagerly than he’d ever admit—to be pushed to his knees.

So there he sat, in the back seat of a Cardiff police car. Lovely.

Jack was still outside, handcuffed and arguing their special Torchwood variety of diplomatic immunity would not allow the Police Constable to charge them with indecency.

*x*x*

When Jack came to apologize, Ianto was tending to Owen’s exotic Rift flora.

He wanted to rail at his lover, to tell Jack off for leading him into that kind of awful situation. It was bound to be humiliating—he dealt with the bloody Cardiff police on a regular basis, how was he going to look them in the eye? It was ridiculous.

But, damn it, he took one look into the other man’s sad blue eyes and his resolve crumbled.

And he couldn’t deny that Jack’s… _apologies_ …were nice.

Right up until Gwen walked in.

Without knocking.

Muttering apologies, Gwen fled the hothouse. Ianto snatched his shirt from the floor and followed her.

"Ianto. Hi. I´m sorry. I didn´t realize."

“It doesn’t matter,” he answers, because it doesn’t.

It was clear that he would never have sex again.  Five interruptions in one day could not possibly be a coincidence. The truth was clear.

God or the Rift or the Flying bloody Spaghetti Monster—someone!—was punishing him into a depressing celibate existence.

_Damn it._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, not my favorite and it was surprisingly difficult to write. But it was the only plot bunny that I could think of for today’s prompt (“Interruption”) so, eso si que es. It is what it is.


End file.
